I Promise You This
by transmuting
Summary: A short one shot of Ed dealing with being a father for the first time. Requested on Tumblr, based on a lyric by Coldplay. Some blatant Edwin.


He was small. Smaller than Ed expected him to be. Even after having watched babies been born before, he had for some reason thought that this would be different. Winry's stomach had seemed so big, he'd been boasting about how his kid was going to be tall before he could even stand. A record sized baby. She hadn't been too happy with the idea and had blamed his boasting for all of her pain during the delivery, of course, but when he'd finally held the newborn in his arms, all he could think was of just how tiny he really was. How fragile and vulnerable to the cruel and harsh world he'd just entered.

Ed didn't know how to be a dad. He didn't know the first thing about raising kids or what they expected. It wasn't as though he'd had the best role model for it in the world, even if he'd had his reasons. He feared becoming just like him; traveling, absorbed in his theories and studies, never seeing his children and missing those monuments. How many birthdays had gone by, sitting and wishing there was just one more person at the table? How many passed tests that he couldn't show off? How much alchemy had he learned without him ever there to be a guide? Ed liked to travel, he liked to see the world, but a family meant change. It meant permanency in a way marriage hadn't quite.

Babies didn't do well on long train rides. Did they?

The young boy squirmed in his arms and Ed immediately pulled him closer to his chest. He nuzzled himself against Ed's bare skin, settling at the contact, not even a small cry having left him. He hadn't cried right away when he'd been born. Winry had panicked. Thought it wasn't normal. Ed didn't know any better, but Granny hadn't even had the time to assure them both it was just fine before their child had begun to cry at once, likely from the raised voices of his parents taking out their worried on each other yet again. He wondered if it meant he'd be a quiet one. He thought he remembered his mother telling him once that Al had been like that. He might be able to raise a boy like his brother.

He hadn't even been a good enough dad to help pick out a name. Winry had listed a ton, starting with Edward or Hohenheim which had quickly been shot down. So many names of family members long gone had made their way into the air, but each one he'd been stubborn over. It felt strange to not give him his own name. His own identity. Winry had snapped, told him he should figure it out, and Ed had tried his best, but nothing seemed to want to come to mind.

It was Alphonse who suggested Caleb. Faith and devotion, he told them it meant. Something that the two had always had with one another. It was fitting for their first born. Rolled off the tongue, Ed said, while still sounding strong and authoritative. He'd also said only tall people were named Caleb and Winry had promptly rolled her eyes, telling him not to press his size issues onto their son or she'd be sure to give him a few inches with a new lump on his head.

Sitting there, holding him close, it was hard to picture him ever being tall. It was hard to picture him walking or talking or anything but a wrinkled, splotchy mess of a baby with a golden fuzz topped on his head. Caleb was his knew start. His fresh beginning. He was the life he had so longed to create with alchemy as a child, the miracle he'd been foolish enough to think he could perform by bypassing the laws of science. It was ironic, really. "Give up alchemy and I make the best thing I ever could have, huh?" he grumbled, letting his finger run along his son's puffy jaw. His head turned immediately, trying to find the food source to latch onto, and whimpering when there was none. Ed shushed him gently and he quickly went into a lulled sleep once more.

He would protect him. He would shelter him from the hardships he had had to endure. He promised himself to never let any harm come to his son. To never let him know the pain that he had known growing up. He would have a father and a mother who loved him dearly, more than life itself, and he would live a boring, plain life in the country side. He would teach him the ways of the world and help him to learn about the sorrows that came with it, but never make him suffer alone. He would always look out for him. He would keep him safe from harm.

Yeah. That's what he'd do. It was a start. A flimsy one, but definitely a start.


End file.
